Trombone
Yeah,
the wife’s
mechanic.
Short feller,
beard
and pony tail.
Hardly ever
speaks.
Spends ever day
fixin’ cars.
Most excitin’ thing
he does is
smoke around
gas pumps.
Naw.
Hell,
I don’ know why
they call ‘im that.
Hunting Scarlet Birds
A dream of July
I was hunting
scarlet birds in a verdant forest;
each dart striking true.
Then the One
appeared
from behind a tree to my left.
Large and unafraid,
his muscular body
and curved scimitar of a beak
were taut and poised.
I pulled a chick from my vest,
fluffy and yellow,
flecked with scarlet
to lure the
large one near.
And he did come,
cocking his head
from side
to side.
I was suddenly
afraid he would
peck my eyes
and I awoke in a sweat
to the sound of
whippoorwills calling.
Scout, an old cat
A rusty iron bell
nailed to the porch wall
tolls in a hot breeze.
She loves the sun so
I sit very still
while she sleeps in my lap.
I am so still
that a lizard runs across my shoe
and neither it nor I care.
I can see that rabbit
eating my tomato plants
and a tortoise, also,
half-buried in the pine straw
escaping the heat.
This sultry day drags on and on
but I don’t want it to end
because she will pass into the darkness
before the world does.
I begin to like the city
It is 1971 and summertime. I am seventeen. It is 5:15 pm on my first day of work in the city. I am earning $87.50 a week working at the telephone company. The gutters of West Peachtree are filled with trash and gushing with water; it has just stopped raining. The sidewalk is slick and I have to walk carefully as I’m wearing my black patent leather baby dolls. They look great with black nylon knee socks. I have a matching shoulder bag that I pull tight to my stomach. I’m wearing a gold plaid jumper with big patch pockets. Underneath is a brilliantly white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. I wear a brass medallion. I hold two quarters tight in my hand; bus fare. I stop on the corner in front of the Biltmore hotel. Behind me is Judy Brown’s Downtown lounge and across the street is the Sans Souci. A car drives past very fast and a filthy spray of water drenches me just as a brown beer bottle is thrown from the car. It bursts into pieces on my shoe. I just stand there. I shake the glass from my foot and look down. When I shake my foot I also shake off great drops of blood. They are spreading on the wet pavement. I move back from the road. Rule two: Don’t be stupid. Period. Stand back from the road. I lean against a pole and begin to feel pain in my foot. I can feel my sock and shoe getting squishy. I don’t look at my foot. It starts to get numb and I begin to think about my day.
I was given a job typing addresses on envelopes. There were hundreds of addresses. They left me alone all morning to do the work and I made mistake after mistake. So many that I stopped putting the ruined envelopes in the bin and stuffed them into my purse. That’s why I held my purse so close to my body when I left. I was afraid it would burst open. I spent lunch in the ladies room crying. When I came back there were two messages on my desk. Diane told me to return the calls and ask for the messages. The first was from Mr. Lyon. I dialed the number. A voice answered, “Atlanta Zoo” and still I asked for Mr Lyon. Diane snickered. The person on the other end hung up. I persisted. I dialed the second number, intending to ask for Mrs. Seacup. The receptionist who answered said, “Lovable Bra Company.” This time I hung up. My ears were so red and hot that I couldn’t hear the laughter in the room. Rule one: Don’t be stupid.
The bus stops in a smelly cloud of black diesel exhaust. The bottom step is even with the gutter and covered with rushing water. I step in and my shoes get soaked. I know I will get an infection. Tink, tink, go my quarters and I stand facing a bus load of strangers. No place to sit. My foot is throbbing. Through the cigarette smoke I see one seat in the very last row. I wobble down the aisle of the moving bus. All the while trying to keep my balance and not put pressure on my still bleeding foot. I sit down next to the largest and blackest man I have ever seen. He is dressed in white shirt, pants and apron. He wears a bakers hat that is at least a foot tall. My shoulders begin to shudder. Tears are threatening on the edges of my eyes. His voice booms out, “Where do you people’s stay?” I am not sure I understand him and I don’t want to be stupid again. I ignore him. He says it again and I realize that he is asking me where I live. He smells like fresh bread. I say “I live in Doraville.” “Dat’s a nice place. I know where dat is.” He smiles the broadest smile with the whitest teeth that I have ever seen. I smile back.
I begin to like the city.
Eat the Penis
Ugh! That’s disgusting!
Caroline said.
We looked at each other
over menus
while mosquitoes buzzed
against the screens.
I can’t eat chitterlings
I can’t put that in my mouth.
Try it once,
you might like it, I said.
In Beijing, (thinking to impress her)
I ate in a restaurant
that specializes in penis dishes.
All kinds, snake, dog, ox, donkey.
Some of it was very, very good!
She looked at me and said,
What the fuck kind of a girl
do you think I am?
